


Desires so Deep

by Azaraethe



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha Males, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Erotica, F/M, Falling In Love, Foreplay, Gentle Kissing, Hand Jobs, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, Mating Bites, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Otome - Freeform, POV Third Person Narrative, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Vaginal Sex, Yumejo, Yumejoshi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22305814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaraethe/pseuds/Azaraethe
Summary: A collection of romantic stories featuring yumejoshi (夢女子) focused erotica with the men of the Granblue Fantasy world. Tags are different for each chapter. I'd suggest you do a drop-down and read the chapter you'd like. This collection is part of my Desires series.[Readers, please note this change in tags - as 'Djeeta' is not the Female Main Character presented in this series. I have removed all Djeeta-related tags. Character tags are also adjusted to reflect only the main male leads. Side-characters will not be listed][This is not a Male Character x Female Reader series]Chapter 1 - Percival IChapter 2 - Eustace I, II & IIIChapter 5 - Siete I, II & IIIChapter 8 - Seruel I, II & IIIChapter 11~ - Cain (please await his update)
Relationships: Eustace (Granblue Fantasy)/Female Main Character, Percival (Granblue Fantasy)/Female Main Character, Seruel (Granblue Fantasy)/Female Main Character, Siete | Seofon (Granblue Fantasy)/Female Main Character
Comments: 32
Kudos: 113





	1. Percival I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my dearest YK.

She waited outside his door, her small hands clasping a cloth-covered box tightly. 

An idle thought crossed her mind, coalescing into fond memories as she waited. His presence, this time, was unexpected, but it made her intensely happy. She had kept his room onboard the Grandcypher tidy and neat, waiting for the next time that he would be able to travel with her through the skydom. The wish was granted quite astonishingly by a person whom she thought would be least generous about such situations. But he gave her a clue to her father’s whereabouts, and he too bade his little brother a fruitful journey with her crew. 

King Aglovale had mentioned a letter from her father, rumored to be in the hands of a certain unsavory noble living in the imperial capital. Percival had immediately volunteered to protect her for this trip. The rest of the crew accepted it all too knowingly, welcoming the red-haired third prince of Wales onboard the Grandcypher once more. His announcement disoriented her slightly, and she could hardly nod her head in approval, her cheeks flushing a light pink.

The knowledge that everyone was aware of her heart. The knowledge that everyone saw those tiny tender glances she stole at his back while he made his promise to his elder brother in the castle’s throne room. That knowledge made her extremely embarrassed. She strove to be fair in her attention to the friends and allies who traveled with her at various periods and seasons onboard the Grandcypher. She knew what each one of them liked and loved, the foods they enjoyed, and the conversations they delighted in. Yet, for just one single person, she knew so much more. 

She did not realize how cold it was until she let out a small sneeze, watching her breath lace white into the air before her. The breakfast in her hands would soon turn cold too. She grew anxious about the tamagoyaki she made this morning, and she remembered he liked those warm and soft, not chilled. 

Tugging her lower lip with her front teeth, she contemplated on knocking the door a fifth time. 

Maybe he was not in his room at all. Or that he had changed his mind and left. The Grandcypher was still moored at the Kingdom’s docks, their course was set only for tomorrow morning. But two evenings ago, he had asked her for permission to enter his bunk, to tidy and ready it for the long flight towards Agastia. Clothes, he told her and his books and some weapons. The Erste Empire still held a layer of unkind sentiment towards her and the blue-haired girl, despite the ongoing truce. Percival had confided in her that he was not very confident about the benignness of the imperial capital right now. Thus, it was important for him to bring what he could muster from Wales to protect her. 

A protest did rise to her lips about his decision. She wanted to boast that she was stronger now. In those few months that they had parted from each other, she learned how to use a new weapon and some rather exciting magic from Albion. Somewhat, upon witnessing the complex shift of concern and worry across his face, she quelled her objections. 

She sneezed again, a louder one this time. Rolling her knuckles against the wooden grain of his bunk’s door, she gave it a tight, final rap. She heard a rustle, loud sounds of heavy blankets being thrown aside and on the floor, the shuffle of male feet, and a heavy thud. 

The door opened a bare slit, the disgruntled voice of a man barely awake slipping through to her. She could smell the warmth from the room and how it penetrated the chilly wintry air around her. It made her sneeze yet again, her breath clouding in visible puffs, and she clasped a palm to her nose, while the other hand fumbled clumsily with the wrapped breakfast box. 

Percival’s face stiffened on recognizing those delicate sneezes in his groggy, sleep-filled state. He opened the door fully, drawing in a tight breath as the coldness in the corridor seeped into his skin. How long had she been standing out there, waiting for him to rouse?

He was almost ready to scold her, his handsome features set in a scowl, and she sneezed again, her small shoulders curling inwards at the force of that action. His grimace fell apart, gave away to an absorbed concern. She was only clad in that thin dress of hers and not wearing a coat. 

Percival’s hand reached out and came up to her arm. Gently cupping her elbow, he urged her to step into the room before closing the door quietly behind them.

“Percival-san.” She smiled up at him, warm and brilliant, despite the chill-bitten cheeks and nose pinked from too many a sneeze. His hand rose to palm the cold curve of her jaw, warming her skin to his temperature. 

“Why are you here so early this morning?” 

He had spied the wrapped box in her hand and knew what it was for at once yet he could not help but obliviously ask. The very first time he received such a breakfast from her, he had given her a piece of his mind for waking up so early to do something so frivolous. Despite his berating, she remained utterly cheerful before him and even encouraged him to eat the meal while it was still warm. Though when she turned and walked away, with her head slightly lower, he knew she was holding back her tears.

She held out the box of food to him, holding it up proudly, her eyes cast in a merry light. 

“I made your favorites. You have not eaten my cooking for a long time.” She tilted her head, letting her cheek fall into the heated cradle of his palm. He smiled down at her. That was what he liked to hear, and it made him feel mischievously childish. Familiar emotion welled at the bottom of his chest as he pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

He accepted the box of food and placed it on the small table in the middle of the room. She was hastened to sit on his bed, where he pulled up his heavy blankets, still warmed with residual heat, around her small body. Her legs dangled over the edge of his bed, her slippered feet peeking out beneath the dark red woolen edges.

“I am not that cold.” She objected with girlish vehemence to his face. He knelt on the floorboards of the room, tucking the edges of his blankets about her. 

“Before you catch even that cold.” Percival insisted gruffly, his hands gripping her blanketed shoulders. Her pinkish lips curved into a small smile, and her hands sneaked out from the layers of fabric to press on the hardness of his chest, her fingers lightly gripping the nightshirt he wore.

“I missed you.” She admitted with a little grin, her palms light as they padded over his chest. “Why did you take so long to open the door, Percival-san?”

He looked perplexed and rose from his kneeling position, reluctantly relinquishing her touch on his body and sat down on the bed next to her. 

“I was studying.” He urged her to look across the room at the tiny study table piled with books and journals. “There was some work I had to complete for my brother before I can leave for Agastia. So, I was hurrying through the night to get it done.” 

He rested the edge of his palm against his neck, kneading a sore knot of muscle there. She seemed to realize Percival did not get any sleep at all, and perhaps, he was drowsing while she was knocking oh-so loudly on his door. She bit and chewed on her lower lip again, in guilty frustration. 

“No, don’t.” He muttered, touching her mouth with a calloused thumb to smooth away her lip-tugging. “You did not wake me up. I was…”

He tried to rack up an excuse to soothe her. “I was napping at my desk.”

She placed her hands on his cheeks upon that excuse, her fingers pressing lightly at his temples. Turning her body sideways to spoon against him, he felt the roughness of his blankets pressed against his forearm and hip.

“Have you finished what you need to do? Is your brother giving you too much to look after?” She asked, undue concern catching in her voice. She edged closer, her fingers moving to rake through his hair, arranging an unkempt lock of red or two tidily. He went motionless beneath those gentle, unassuming touches. She was so subtle in her demand that he was not aware of the moment his arm slid into the folds of the blankets, bringing her body fully against his.

She pressed her face into his shoulder like a little rabbit, her nose nudging aside the open collar of his shirt to smell his skin. How many months back was that, that he held her this close, she thought as she brought a hand down to pull and loosen that silly barrier of blankets. 

Her heart thumped. 

He apparently had read her mind, knew what she wanted. Both his hands clasped her close, the tips of his fingers trailing down the small of her back. Her breathing quickened along with her pulse, drumming in the backs of her knees and in the pit of her stomach. 

“I missed you too.” He echoed her earlier admission, and his hands moved to clasp around her waist, crumpling the material of her dress. He pushed her a little backward, away from his shoulder, so he could look upon her face. She flushed, wanting, lips parting. 

A flutter surged in her stomach. She was glad she was still seated on his bed, and not standing for her knees had lost all their ability to support her. As his mouth lowered to hers, she yielded to the gentle presses of lips upon lips, drawing in the taste of him. The kisses were lightly insisted, casually needy, and they changed to something patiently, deeply hungering. She felt a heat that was all him swelling against her. 

He broke away from her mouth, his body stretching to lift against hers before his head tilted to the side to kiss her neck and the rim of her ear, his palm nudging aside her short blonde locks. She quivered from the kisses, and her fingers curled to form tiny fists against his shoulders. He felt her shiver as he kissed her ear, and then, the smallest of all sneezes happened. 

He sat up, pulling away from her.

She hiccuped gently, flags of reddened embarrassment over her cheeks. Her face grew fiercely pink the moment she sighted the brooding frown descending over his face. 

“I’m… I’m not cold.” She flung the blankets away from her person, shook her head, upset with herself. Oh, it was going so well too, but he just must be someone who put her welfare before his, and now he looked conflicted. 

“I can’t have you catching a cold in my room. Stay here, I’ll get you something warm to drink.” Percival groused at her, a notch burrowing itself along with that frown in the middle of his forehead. His hands made a move to pull back the fallen blankets, and at once, she moved too, gripping his wrists to lever herself upright to push a kiss onto his mouth.

She missed his lips, her mouth kilting off-center, and dented the side of his cheek instead. Surprised by her movements and her attempt to kiss him, his waist buckled back. His hands flailed, gripping her forearms and clasped her to his chest. 

“I’m not cold.” She repeated firmly for one last time and reached out to angle his face towards hers so that she could stare into those scarlet eyes of his. What a stubborn man, she thought, a little angry now, and her expression vexed. 

Were all princes like this, oblivious and dense? 

When they first met, he did not care for her chocolates. In the second year with him, all he did was to ask her questions through the night until boredom dragged her to bed. She watched him seriously now as a flush shamefully scratched the tip of his nose, and for once, Percival felt completely helpless being pinned down by this tiny slip of a girl. 

“You’re not cold.” He repeated with a powerless sigh and drew his hands over her nape, willing them to be warm and to warm her skin. 

Lifting her head and nodding, she looked into his face. He was too handsome for his own good, and her stomach fluttered again, her little bravado of earlier weakening. She pressed her fingers down his cheeks and eased up, kissing his mouth. He responded with a modest courting of her mouth first, which grew fervid at her demands. She lifted herself away, and her mouth descended to his ear with a gasping request; for him to take her again like how he did in his room, in the castle, that one summer night.

“Should I?” He smiled up at her, a smile that made her heart stop. The frown had eased away from his face. She nodded, pressing the heels of her palms on his shoulders, levered herself above his face. He grasped the sleeves of her dress, easing them off her shoulders and pulled at the thin bodice, lowering down the neckline to kiss the curves of her breasts. 

His lower lip wavered over her nipples, peaking them. She made a tiny movement, gave a faint hiss, and her hands clasped his head, holding him there. 

She felt her skirt lift. He had pushed the fabric upwards, his hand smoothly reaching the parting in her thighs. His fingers scraped against the thin slip of material that grew wet and warm on his fingertips.

He took his attention away from her breasts, and kissed her languidly, one hand stroking her slowly through the soft cotton of her underwear and the other pushing down his own pants to release himself. She moaned a little into his kisses, his fingers sliding into her wet, willing folds with bare resistance, his erection edging against the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

Percival continued to stroke and tease, feeling her toes curl against his legs as the interior of her body clenched around his fingers. She whimpered and soaked up the sensation of skin against skin, the roughness of his opened nightshirt, his undone pants against her disheveled dress.

He had twisted her panties off, letting that slick dampness of hers wet his flat stomach. She sat upright, edging herself over the length of him. He encouraged her, gripping her hips and lifting her just barely up and pushed gently at first. Her flesh resisted, tightening about his tip. She felt him suck in a hard breath of control, felt him slowly easing himself out of her.

“Should I stop?” Percival whispered raggedly, his face taut, and his expression bespoke one of dark worry again. She shook her head, voicing that she was not an innocent anymore. Perhaps such a situation was natural, that only one time he made love to her was so many months ago. She became overwhelmed with emotion that he still cared for her despite his own need. Biting her lower lip again, she parted her hips and gripped him, sinking herself down to take in half of his length.

“Don’t even think of it…” She whispered softly, her fingers stroking the rest of him outside her body in bashful encouragement. He went along with her permission, burying himself into the softness of her body, a hand vanishing under the folds of her skirt and another drawing heated fingertips along the pale curve of her back. She arched with a sigh into the caress, mouthing his name, shuddering as he teased out a few final spasms, her bare skin and her cheeks both blushing in the same reddish-pink. He lifted himself, putting his mouth to those blushes, kissing every spot as he rocked deeper into her, until he finally stilled, coming in harsh spurts.

Like that first night they were together, she fell asleep, curled into his blankets languidly like a little kitten, her delicate fingers clenching at the edge of the dark red wool. Percival stroked her head, tucking the light wispy strands of her hair behind a reddened ear. 

He got up from the bed, arranged his messy clothing before sitting down at the small table. The box of food was opened, and he smiled to himself as he ate the cold rolls of tamagoyaki, one by one.


	2. Eustace I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my beloved YK.

Eustace?

She leaned over the windowsill, peeking out of the open window. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, chilled red by the biting cold of the icy wind, her eyes drifted to the still-dark horizon. It was already her third visit to Silverwind Stretch, and she never remembered a winter in North Vast this freezing. Her sleep-filled eyes caught barely the tall, slender shadow of an Erune male slipping out from the inn's doors to turn into a dimly-lit street to his right. 

Where was he going? 

Crooking a knuckle to swipe at her eyes, she took a passing glance at the star-littered night sky beyond the town. The jagged peaks of the Eoniho Mountains stretched and rose upwards, darkness upon darkness, their snowy crests a pale ghostly white against the mottled glow from the stars and the half-moon. Curiosity grew in her, and she returned to the even colder bedroom to retrieve a wool cloak and her shortsword. 

She intended to follow him. 

Keeping her body close to the shadows the night could offer, she also found small advantages in the puddles of half-light provided by the flickering street lighting. She stepped where he did, keeping a shoulder pressed to the corner of a building, angling her body to match with the play of light and dark. She found strange amusement in copying him - this cat and mouse chase, and she was the cat this time.

Half a moment ago, she did wonder if she was following the right person, and her heart thumped a little. A few more steps ahead, she saw him turn a corner, the pale glow of lanterns hung outside a townhouse splaying across his sleek, umber-furred ears and the layers of choppily cropped white hair, affirming his identity.

She rapidly breathed, her breath drawing spurts of clinging mist in the air. So exhilarated she was by the chase that she'd forgotten it was, very cold - so cold that the townspeople would put blocks of meat and fruit on their windowsills to freeze overnight. The cloak, though wool, was thin and did little to warm where it managed to cover. She had made sure that she did not lose sight of him, and as she tried to heat her hands with her breath, she did lose track of him around the corner. Narrowing her eyes, she looked carefully over ungloved hands cupped over her nose, scouring the narrow alley before her.

He was gone. 

Did she lose him at the previous turn? Did he slip into the side-street next to this alley? She backed a few steps, tracing her former route, her eyes shifting side-ways, checking her surroundings. Tendrils of steam seeped from the bent chimneys attached to the wooden houses along this stretch of street, carving white whorls into the air around her, marring her sight and senses. 

She heard a footstep, a thud of a boot. Heavy and resounding. She whipped around, hand reaching to the hilt of her sword, the other clenched into a fist to throw a punch if needed.

"Hey."

A deep, male voice resounded above the mist and steam, and a gloved hand caught hers, pulling her away from the alley with a sharp jerk. She fell against the hard plane of a chest, and the clean smell of soap and that distinct mixture of exotic spice and woodiness in his clothes. The hand that caught hers relaxed, loosening his hold, and rested on her upper shoulder.

"Eustace?"

"What are you doing here?" His voice was gentled to a low, edged with worry, peppered with slight anger. "This is not your usual sort of town…It is dangerous at night."

She unhooked her hand from her sword's hilt and moved to pull his hand away from her shoulder, her eyes narrowing at his question. "What are you doing here?" She retorted mildly, knowing this tone of hers would irritate him, and she kept her grip on his hand. The material of his glove felt icy-cold, and she trembled from touching it. 

"I am going to find an old friend." He shook a wayward lock of white hair from his eyes, his thin lips pursing as now he realized she was wearing almost next to nothing for protection in this hellishly cold place. Muttering something about her freezing to resemble the blocks of meat on windowsills, he undid the front buttons of his jacket and pulled the still-warm garment over her small shoulders.

She protested; she was not cold; the cloak was enough. 

"Look at how you are shivering." He cut her off with a sharp shake of his head and buttoned the jacket firmly, pushing away a few messy locks of hair from her face. She opened her mouth; lips parted to say something.

He knew at once what she was going to say, and with a light smile on his face, he patted her cheek with a gloved hand, "No, I am not bothered by this cold. You know where I came from…" 

She still looked a little upset and perturbed. She knew, but it felt awkward to be treated as if she was fragile and weak.

"How can you be not cold wearing that." She poked a hand out from the heavy layers of his jacket, pointing to the exposed length of his back to the chilly air. Oh, sure she was stubborn, he thought to himself. His hand reached out to take hers and pressed her fingers to his exposed waist.

She swallowed at once, her throat bobbing as her hand was pulled towards him. She yanked her hand away at once, her nails barely scraping his skin, her fingers pressing but once on muscles bunched and hard beneath them.

"Where are we going?" She tucked her hands firmly beneath his jacket, her fingers gripping her skirt tightly. A heated flush had wrung its way into her hands, and she was glad he could not see it. Thoughts whirled in her mind - thinking about the changes in their relationship in the past year. 

"We?" He rested his hand on the large brown belt, circling his hip and frowned openly at her. She rounded her eyes and stared back at him, undefeated. In the same flat tone, he continued, "You are not going where I'm headed."

"Who is this friend of yours?" She pursued another question, unwilling to let go of an adventure. A sparkle flashed in her eyes, bright like fireworks in spring. "I want to meet him."

Under the diffused lights of the street-lamps and the half-moon, Eustace's bronzed face was wreathed in a multitude of expressions. A part of him regretted allowing so much trust to build between them, and one other part quietly admired the tiny pluck in this small slip of a girl before him.

And just the smallest part seemed to be a minute, yet growing affection for her.

"You can come then." He gave up and turned to lead the way. She quickened her steps after him, slipping her hand out from the jacket to clutch his hand. He startled at the touch but slowly allowed her tiny fingers to cling around the thick fabric of his glove.

They walked in a street that was very quiet, except for a large building right at the end of it. A strong scent hung in the air, of musky canine fur and the woodsy smell of chopped conifers. Vast swaths of steam hung in the air, like ghosts, haunting the building's tiled roof and its worn brick walls. Apart from hearing faint barks and the occasional lonely howl, she could not discern any other activity in the light-mottled darkness surrounding her. Grasping the Erune's hand tightly, she sidled close, her face wrinkled in suspicion at the environment. 

Eustace seemed amused. Earlier she was all bravado and wit, wanting to follow him, and now she appeared half-spooked by her surroundings. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and pushed her just a little closer to him. 

"This is where he lives." He jerked his chin towards the brick building, "This place is a sled-house. The dogs won't bite you. Come, you wanted to see him."

He started to move towards the front of the building. The howls and yips grew in volume, and she balked slightly. Her eyes caught sight of giant wolf-like creatures prancing and turning in shadowy circles within the fenced pens next to her. The barriers were low, and none of the enormous beasts were in cages. They sniffed eagerly at the air as she passed, their muzzles twitching, their jaws semi-opened, slavering, sharp bone-white canine teeth gleaming in the weak light offered by the tallow lanterns hung above the pens.

But they did not approach the girl. 

"You don't have to be scared of them." He felt entertained, watching her predicament and how close she clung to his side, both her hands tensely clutching his wrist. 

"Come." He opened the door and ushered her inside. 

"I…" She lifted her head to look at him and was interrupted by a booming greeting.

"Eustace!"

"Aven…" 

A muscled Erune, black of hair and ears, and midnight of eyes looked up in surprise from his work-table. He was clad in almost nothing but a pair of broadcloth pants. Uttering another exclamation in a language the girl did not understand, the Erune laid down the long iron strip in his hands, and moved in wide strides to where the pair stood. His face was red with exertion and suffused with heat from the burning fires of the forge behind him. He was so much taller than Eustace. She had to crane her neck further up to even look at his swarthy face.

Stripping off a sooty glove from one hand, Aven clasped Eustace's shoulder in a brotherly grip. 

"I did not expect you to be here so soon." There was genuine cheer somewhat in his tone, and a sigh of relief followed a momentary silence. 

She felt the muscles of Eustace's back jerk and move, and the pale-haired Erune's hand shift to unlatch a small bag from his belt. He held out the bag to the other, who received it with a heavy trace of emotion on his face. 

"Sharle will feel better with this." Eustace murmured, taking a long look at the closed door behind the other Erune. A frown spread slowly across his brow, and a question formed in his eyes, towards Aven.

"She has been…" The black-haired Erune fought to find his words, and he sucked in a needed breath, "Surviving."

"You will be well?" Eustace asked, turning to indicate he will be leaving. His hand gripped hers a little tighter than usual. She felt the muscles in his forearm ripple; it seemed like he was taking breaths to calm himself down.

"We will be well." Aven held the small bag with his large hands and nodded, his darkened eyes moving to look at the slight-built female next to the Erune. "Your…?"

"My companion."

Eustace replied, placing his hand on the front door's handle. "Be well then, old friend." 

He placed his hand on the small of her back, urging the girl outside into the cold. She pulled his jacket closer around her body, shivering slightly as the icy night winds buffeted her cheeks. There was a question in her mind, perhaps two. But it may not be the right time to ask or probe.

Once outside, he retook her hand, clasping the smallish fingers into his large gloved ones.

"I'll take you back to the inn." He told her softly, leaning down to whisper into her ear and led her through the dog pens again. The creatures still frightened her, and now that her eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, she could see their massive builds, the thick bristling fur around their necks and backs.

Eustace read her thoughts.

"Are you scared?"

She squeezed his fingers in affirmation.

"They can be friendly." He said, easing her to the side of a fenced pen. One of the dogs barked, more a greeting than a warning. The beast rested its muzzle on the top of the fence, its unblinking round eyes regarding the pair. She hesitated, watching the creature's sapphire-blue sights focus on her.

Eustace pulled her wrist deliberately and placed her hand before the dog's nose. The beast sniffed at her fingers, and a mottled red tongue slipped out to lick at her fingertips quickly.

"Now, stroke him like that, lightly."

He lifted her hand and drew her fingers across the dog's furred head.

She followed his direction and the urging of his hand on her wrist. The creature's bright blue eyes closed, crinkling. She could see the rapid wagging of its twin tails in the darkness. 

"That's right." He praised her quietly. "Now, back towards the ears." The girl blinked at the creature's excited reactions as she scratched its white-tipped ears. The other dogs in the pen started to crowd nearer, eager and begging, wanting to be pet.

Eustace released his hand from the girl's wrist, letting her interact with the enthusiastic creatures. Her breaths slipped out of her mouth in little white puffs, and her face grew red-cheeked in laughter as one of the pups arched up, placing its brown paws on the fence, its blackish tongue licking her cheek and attempting to nose her lips.

"That's enough." He muttered, stepping forward and palming the dog's muzzle, giving the animal a gentle but firm push away from the girl's face. Taking her hand, he gave her fingers a soft rub, urging her away from the pen. "Come, let's go. I don't want you catching a cold."

She wanted to play more with the dogs but followed his direction obediently as he brought them back to the street leading back to the inn.


	3. Eustace II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my beloved YK.

He helped her open the door to the bedroom at the inn, and his eyebrows knitted together in one of his customary deep frowns. The bedroom, steeped in darkness, was freezing - she had left the window open and ran away to follow him. Dredges of mountain wind gusted outside, drumming on the thin window panes, occasionally slipping a chill draft into the bedroom. Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he forbade her to remove his jacket, and he escorted her in, shutting the door behind them.

Eustace looked around for the fireplace or the heating box. There was none. A small sound of exasperation escaped from the Erune's mouth. 

"You did not give that room to the others."

He turned her around to look at her face. She pursed her lips and nodded. 

"I did." The answer was offered as a challenge towards him. His fingers kneaded her shoulders firmly, and she saw his eyes lit and narrow in irritation. "I'm the Captain. I should take care of my people."

She thought there was a need to explain why the sacrifice was made and that she would be fine sleeping in the cold room. The maid had given her two more blankets, and she will wear her cloak to sleep as well. She continued to insist she will be alright.

The Erune shook his head. Those blankets were as good as nothing, thin tweed coverlets that barely provided protection and warmth. The people who lived here were used to the ice and chill, but she was not.

Eustace dropped his hands away from her shoulders. Removing his heavy, padded gloves, he left them draped on the only chair in the room, the rickety wooden contraption creaking from the weight. He moved swiftly to close the window first, dropping its rusted metal latch and pulled it shut. The scratched panes shook slightly from the winds rising against them. 

"You should go back to sleep." She told him, her hands moving to undo the buttons of his jacket so she could return the garment to him. Her attention was so caught up trying to figure out how the buttons worked that she failed to see him approach. 

"This way. You have to push it up and pull this part." He stood in front of her; his head bent close to look at where she was struggling. Tanned fingers worked their way to the button she was fighting with, and he unplucked the hook easily, pushing the button out of its latch. She made a small sound in her throat, annoyed with herself for being unable to figure out something so simple.

"Thank you." She whispered, taking the garment off along with its warmth and his scent to hand it to the Erune. He watched her movements with a faint glint in his lightning-blue sights, and as the jacket was offered, he seized her hands with his, curling long fingers over her knuckles. 

His jacket fell to the floor in a heap covering their feet.

"Shall I get a heating box?" He asked, searching her face for a particular answer. Her eyes rounded as if trying to read his mind, her gaze lifting to look at his eyes, at the slight shy twitch of his dark-tipped ears. His grasp was warm, hot even. She was suddenly aware of the heat emanating from his body.

"No, I don't want to disturb the maid anymore. After all, we are staying here for free…and on your account." She bit her lower lip, her fingers unconsciously tightening over his hands. Without his jacket, she felt startingly cold, the iciness of the air biting into skin and flesh.

"I can stay with you then." He told her, his voice gentling down. "I don't mind the chill."

She coughed, catching a sneeze in her throat and choked. His words made her blank a little, finding herself becoming very conscious of Eustace's presence. "What do you mean?"

"I'll hold you as a friend. Keep you warm." 

She kept her fingers linked into his, silent and too aware of his proximity, hearing the evenness of his breaths as he waited for an answer. With little surprise, she realized she wished for him to stay - indeed, it invited trouble, but she felt a whimsical triumph about it — a more significant step to strengthening her relationship with him.

"Alright." She agreed, her voice catching in her throat. He smiled a little, the edge of his lip hitching into a curl.

He bent with feline grace, one hand scooping up his jacket and the other closing around her hand, lacing fingers into hers. She was led to the narrow bed and bade to lay down. He pulled her cloak around her body and lifted the blankets over her legs and waist. As she laid her head upon the thin, worn pillow - there was only one; she sucked in a deep breath in the darkness, pressing her hands flat against her thighs under the blankets.

The poorly-padded mattress sank immediately as Eustace sat down on it. She heard the clinks and clanks of metal buckles as his belts were unfastened. Swallowing, she stole a sideways glance to his back, the tanned, muscular expanse curving as he undid the buckles of his inner vest. He removed it, laying it together with his jacket and boots on the floor.

She turned her head swiftly to stare up into the ceiling the moment she sensed him slipping his long, large body under the blankets next to her. Carefully, he laid his arm around her waist and pulled her close, her back against his chest. She drew in a muted gasp, curling a little, attracted to the welcoming heat and warmth from his body. Her toes slid down the length of his legs, catching onto the cold fabric of his pants.

A small squeak drifted from her lips at the chilly contact, and she twitched, inching backward against Eustace's stomach. 

"Go to sleep." He urged softly, his mouth close to her ear, his breath stirring a few wispy strands of her hair. "We have a long journey tomorrow to Griephland."

"Eustace?" She murmured, stifling a yawn and unconsciously stretched herself. She felt him twitch and shift behind her.

"Mm-hm?" He had settled a hand over her hip now, applying pressure there to keep her still. 

"Who is Sharle?"

"Aven's wife." He told her as he stretched his cramped arm, slipping it under her head so she could rest on it instead of the hard pillow. Now that he was so close, she could smell a soft spiced floral note from his hair and skin. His mouth opened, breath stirring the hair at her nape, to continue speaking.

"She is very ill. I don't know why he is holding onto hope she will live."

"Is she going to die?" She twisted slightly, turning to face the Erune. Her nose bumped into his. At the touch, his eyes opened to a bare slit to look at her, the pale blueness of his irises gleaming beneath light gray lashes.

"I don't know." He murmured, shaking his head, locks of gray-white straying across his forehead. "I wish I knew how to heal her."

"You're very kind." She remarked, smiling and pulling her hands up to clasp his frowning face. It was not the first time she'd seen him so loyal to people precious to him. She loved him for it - that fierce faithfulness in his heart. Stretching her body upwards, she moved her hands to touch his ears, stroking the furry tips like how he taught her to do with those pups back at the sled-house.

He looked broodingly at her for a moment, and his eyes closed at the sensation of his ears being touched, his thin lips parting in short breaths. 

"Did you like that?" She asked, tangling her fingers into his hair as she used the heel of a hand to brush one ear-tip up and down. 

How dare she ask such a pertinent question, he thought. Eustace popped an eye open and, with sudden swiftness, leaned closer, his tongue slipping out to lick the curved shell of her ear.

"Did you like that?" Bringing her close now, the Erune rested his cheek against the soft planes of her face. He watched her expression shift, her cheeks flame, pink, and her mouth parting in surprise at him. Her breath was hard and rapid in her chest, and her hands slipped to cup the back of his neck. 

"We should sleep," Eustace muttered, reminding her of what they should be doing, hinted at what they should not be doing. Stroking her cloak-covered back, he coaxed her again to rest, allowing her the audacity of tucking her head under his chin. She refused to relent on her hold on his neck, rubbing her face against the smooth hollow at his throat. 

She felt thoroughly warmed and in want of something else. A little test would not hurt, would it? 

He had always been hinting with his words and brushing everything off with that dry humor of his. Be it a festival or change of season. Be it every gift she had given to and in every moment she spent with him. 

Ah, he would not run away this time.

She clasped his neck tight, using little strength to push herself upwards and braced her lips onto his mouth, kissing his lower lip. She felt him startle at the motion, his eyes opening and widening, and she released his mouth barely

"You should not do that." He groaned in a gripping whisper, shaking his head as if to toss a suggestive thought out from his mind. 

"Do you not like me?" She queried, wonder, willingness, and whimsy interlaced in her voice.

"I do," Eustace replied grudgingly, his eyes half-lidding, his tone gruff and bothered at her cornering. "I do like you a lot."

His embarrassing confession made her smile, and she moved her hands to rub at his drooping ears. "I liked you the moment we met." 

She told him earnestly and arched up to kiss his forehead. His hands cradled the back of her shoulders and pulled her down, angling his face to hers. He returned her kisses with gentle shallow laps of his tongue into her mouth. She responded eagerly, her tongue slipping and darting greedily into his. 

Eustace gathered her body closer to his, tightly into his embrace, twisting his lips harder over hers. He did not feel sated even when she yielded to him, and he was increasingly desperate for more. Her fingers raked over his shoulders, scraping at locks of his hair. The cloak sheltering her body was stripped off, leaving that thin night-dress she wore. She gasped as he nudged his mouth to the side of her throat, fitting a kiss to bare skin, the furred tips of his ears pleasantly tickling against her ear and cheek.

It was terrible that he could smell her arousal so acutely. Eustace could not help instinctively to reach down, pushing aside her dress and her panties, his fingers scraping at the wetness below her belly. It drew a small cry from her, and she clenched her legs, trapping his finger between her thighs.

"Would it be painful?" She writhed against him, her eyes wide, her gaze glazed with pleasure as he used that trapped finger to stroke her delicate slippery folds. The feeling was different, so different from when she'd touch herself in the quietness of all nights when she slept away from the girls. She had brazenly tried to slip her finger into herself one time, but it was unlike the intensity she felt now as his finger worked itself into her.

He kissed her again and again, his lips fitting over her mouth. Arching his middle finger into her softness, he pressed her flesh, circling the wetness within. The girl reacted, her flesh resisting, a growing burn making her jerk herself away.

"It will be painful." He told her matter-of-factly, his palm heeling against her wet mound to stroke it, willing more of her wetness to cover his fingers. She clung to him, her fingers twined tight into his hair as she felt a heated ache rushing along her spine at his strokes. 

The Erune levered himself up, pressing her to the bed as now he loomed over her, the light blue of his eyes deepening and darkening. "It would be more painful because I'm an Erune…"

Eustace allowed his weight to rest on her lightly, balancing himself on his forearm. His hand shifted over the bodice of her dress and pulled down the pliant material from her shoulders and breasts.

"Why?" She breathed in shallowly as he traced his finger under a breast, across a hardening nipple which he promptly bent down to nip and bite at it. 

"There's…" He began, attempting to find the most straightforward way he could to explain his own anatomy to her. Deciding to distract himself, he pressed his mouth over the curve of her shoulder, his teeth scraping and biting at the soft flesh before muttering, "this part of us that is much larger than a human male."

She pushed against his chest curiously now, her hands bunching against his tense pectoral muscles, and they moved down to his pants, her fingers hooking onto the waistband. 

"Show me?" She ventured daringly.


	4. Eustace III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my beloved YK.

He sat back between her legs, resting his weight on his bent thighs and undid the front of his pants at her request. The girl beckoned him closer, using her hands to push down down the fabric, and it bunched around his thighs. Her fingers moved to touch his cock, drawing her palms up and down the length of it. 

It was not as hard as she thought it would be - was he not aroused by her body and her kisses? She frowned deeply, palming the organ again and slipped her hands further down in exploration. Her eyes widened briefly as her fingers stroked the soft skin of a large bulbous form at his root. Her careful ministrations were rewarded promptly by a few deep groans from the Erune. 

"If you continue touching that, we won't be able to do what you have in mind." He warned, curving his long body above hers, the tightly-knit muscles at his stomach bunching in control and retaliation. Her fingers fled from his knot and rested on his semi-hard length, her face reddening in a deep flush. Eustace sighed and drew downwards, kissing her a few more times before she relaxed softly in his embrace.

His hands moved back to between her legs and eased her panties away, rolling the tiny garment down her legs. His finger stroked, tickled again before it entered her - and she cried gently as he worked in another finger, and yet one more, searching out more intimacy, preparing her body to take in his full length and knot.

Her legs trembled as he slipped his fingers out, spreading her thighs apart and lowered his hips between them. There was bare pressure against the opening of her body as he pressed his cock against her wetness.

It burned sharply, as she realized he was pushing against her; that discomfort mixing with the pleasurable nips and kisses on her neck and shoulder. Eustace could hear her breathing quicken, her body twitching in flight. Before she could pull herself away from him, he growled gently and urged forward, thrusting his length halfway into her. 

Her breath stopped, and her eyes flew open. Her hands balled into tiny fists against his chest.

He stopped breathing almost too. She was so tight, her flesh clenching in resistance around his erection. He felt himself swell at once, surrounded by damp quivering folds.

"It hurts." She blurted out unconsciously and sobbed. Her legs curled upwards, and she pressed her face into his chest, sucking in deep breaths. 

"Should I…?" He asked, taking in all he could to control his baser animal instinct to bury himself deep into her body. She barely lifted her head to look at the Erune, and through the veil of tears in her eyes, she caught sight of his stunned face. 

She knew he had warned her earlier. She could only much blame her stubborn nature for getting herself into this. Her belly ached, and her thighs twitched, the fullness of him halfway into her felt shamefully lewd. 

He began to slide himself out from her, seeing that she was quiet and did not reply. 

"No." She fastened her hands over his forearms agitatedly. It felt strange and empty now that his length was almost gone from her body. "No, go on." 

Eustace bent forward, holding her tightly, pressing soothing words against her ear; he would help her take that pain away if she'd let him, and it would be pleasant for both of them. Gradually, he eased his cock back into her, slowly, coaxing her to breathe deep each time he let himself further in. His thumb traced at her mound, flicking and circling her clit, enticing her, arousing her. 

He continued to tease and caress, his mouth making trails down her neck, her shoulder, and his teeth nipped again at the curves of her breasts. At the same time, he moved inside her, with deep nudges, as gentle as he could. His knot rested against her wet folds as he bided his time, watching her shifting expressions. Her body tilted instinctively, her thighs widening to fit more of him inside her.

"I want more." She begged dazedly, her hands slipping down to her groin, her fingers scraping at where they were joined. "Your... "

She frowned, puzzling over the word to describe what she had touched earlier. He did not tell her what it was, did he? 

"Knot." He leaned down, his face close to her ear, and enlightened her. "I won't put it in until you are ready." 

Her eyes blinked questioningly, of a need for assurance, and he nuzzled her cheek with his lips. 

"You will feel good." He promised, his breath short.

Gripping her hips, Eustace thrust into her again, slipping in and out in slow long strokes, each drive and ebb drawing an equivalent moan from her and a low lustful growl from him. She had long since stopped resisting his pushes, and he felt growing wetness surround his length, damping the skin of his groin and tracing slick, slippery swaths across his thighs. 

He caressed her cheek, shifting dampish locks of hair away from her face, kissed her, and told her she was ready for him. Slowly, his hand moved to between her legs, widening her with his fingers - and plunged his hips forward, impelling himself into her.

A cry lifted and caught itself in her throat as she felt a greater fullness engulf her senses. She gripped his shoulders tightly as his knot entered her, its heated curves awakening places within her that his fingers or his cock could not have aroused. Eustace shifted, slipping his hands under her buttocks, moving her so that he could drive his entire length, knot, and all into her easily. 

He controlled his nudges and thrusts, letting his engorged knot play against her sensitive folds, the heightened sensations that part of his organ brought for him, jolting him towards a heated ecstasy as well. She felt her heartbeat reverberate everywhere, in her chest, limbs, her belly, and where he had laved her nipples with his tongue. 

She felt tight, full, filled everywhere. Eustace paused, looking momentarily at her colored cheeks, the spread of pinkish blush across her forehead and neck. He would do this all through the night if he could, to love her so dearly. But he knew she was close.

The girl had stilled, breathing hard, her features tightening as a wave of sensation crested and crept into her insides, and her knees starting to clamp at his flanks familiarly.

"Eustace…" She clipped a moan from her mouth. 

Eustace saw her control herself, and he breathed hard. 

"It's alright, just let it come." He told her and bent down to her once more, holding her body very close to his, his breath flowing harshly against her face. Muttering a garble of a language she never knew, he seized her hips, pulling them towards him, thrusting deeper, faster, his fingers stroking down her belly. 

A final cry drifted from her pretty mouth, and she spasmed around his cock and knot, her hands clinging to his wrists, her breaths coming out in short pants. Eustace too gasped, and flattened his palms on each side, depressing the mattress with his weight and with great reluctance, moved his palm below to spread her wide. She jerked upwards, her hips shaking at his touch. He wanted so badly to keep himself in her, to come deep in her. With a low groan, he pulled away, dragging his engorged length and reddened knot out from her body, his release immediately spilling in rough spurts onto the crumpled bedsheet.

After a while, she felt her breathing slow and calm down after a while and sensed the Erune was now lying by her side, his arm gently clasping her naked waist. She struggled to sit, the acute soreness between her legs becoming apparent to her, and she sighted the damp pool of pale white near her knees. 

"You did not…" She turned to him, inquiringly, an eyebrow arching at him. He trailed fingertips down her warm back, tracing circles about her skin. 

"No, I should not," Eustace answered firmly, watching indignance fan over her face and pulled himself up to sit, "Not unless you are my wife."

She smiled a little to herself at his very unromantic and yet practical answer, watching him as he swung his long legs down the bed. He bent down and plucked a neatly folded white cloth from one of the pockets of his pants. 

"We should go to sleep." He sighed, reaching over and wipe her dry before he folded the cloth twice over and methodically wiped at the bedsheet. Rearranging her night-dress over her body, he picked up the fallen cloak and, too, wrapped her in that. She drew near, sniffing his scent, her body warmed by his closeness as he settled to lay next to her.

"I could marry you." She whispered against the rough skin of his throat and hugged him fiercely before drowsing against the steady heartbeat in his chest. He did not answer. As she slept, he kissed her hair and smiled against her forehead, enjoying that little bubble of tranquility before he, too, drifted off in slumber.


	5. Siete I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my beloved YK.

“He… what?”

She repeated slowly after the Harvin, folding her arms across her chest. A bewildered frown crept into the furrow between her eyebrows as she leaned against the Grandcypher’s wooden railing. The girl’s mouth settled into a brooding curve. Anger sprouted in her heart, gripping at an ache she did not wish existed. He must be avoiding her.

“His sword arm’s broken. So he won’t be here this week, or next week. Or the following week.”

Uno tugged at his white beard with his tiny knobbly fingers and chuckled. The One-Rift Spear gleamed, danced and bobbed next to him. She lifted an eyebrow at the Eternal and at his spear. That weapon unnerved her. They, these weapons, always seemed like they knew what she was thinking or was about to think next. She was utterly sure that every single one of these weapons could read minds and share secrets. And they would divulge their discoveries to their owners.

The Harvin chuckled again, his small hand leaving his beard, and his fingers lifted to pinch the tip of his mustache. Was he laughing at her uneasiness with his spear? Or was he amused at something else?

A vexed feeling rose horrifically in her mind. The Eternals were very close, were they not? He told her once that they confided in each other, anything and everything. Now that knowledge was starting to be her undoing. 

“He can start the lessons again when he’s better then.” She found herself saying, attempting to be as nonchalant as ever. The Harvin clucked his tongue and gripped his spear, his wrinkled face twisting into a grin. Half her mind wondered why he would even have Uno to tell her the news. The stately Harvin Eternal was too regal and august to be a mere messenger. The other half told her not to ask any more questions. It should stay as it was.

“I’ll relay it to him then, Captain.” Uno bowed to indicate his departure. As he rose in the air, buffeted and buoyed by the magic of the spear, he spoke, like a mischievous afterthought.

“He is in Stardust Town, at the twins’ home. If you want to go see him.”

The Harvin tilted his head to regard the girl thoughtfully. And then he was gone, on invisible wings carried by unseen winds.

She finally breathed out now that Uno was out of sight. Her shoulders sagged, her back curling forward, and she hugged her belly for a semblance of self-comfort. There was no way the Harvin would know of what happened back there in the village with her and Siete. Her fingers turned cold, and she dug her nails against the fabric of her bodice. 

The girl wondered how badly broken his arm was. When they left the mountain village, he seemed fine, or did he? Her mind crackled, attempting to sieve back a jumble of memories from two weeks ago, and her cheeks reddened with consecutive blushes. 

She remembered a kiss, no, kisses. Many kisses. Kisses on her lips and her hair. Arms that wrapped around her with vast strength, a softly-whispered proposal which she did not hear, but she remembered declining before she gave in to the pleasure he offered.

Oh, and that smile of his that was so wide that it lit the night.

Ah, it was maddening, so maddening. 

She twisted her fingers into each other as she swung around to rest her forearms on the wooden rail. Staring out at the clouds drifting below the Grandcypher, she was lost in thought. The airship was currently moored in the Auguste Isles - she loved the serenity of this forested island with its large pools of brilliant blue waters, their flat surfaces shimmering and reflecting the wispy white sky above. 

Even the air smelled refreshing. 

Eugen had brought the rest shopping to replenish their supplies and have a tea-time treat at the new shop in town. She had excused herself from the trip that she was unwell after that particular mountain expedition. Ever the empath, Katalina did not ask any further questions and only regarded her with extensive worry in her eyes. Lyria promised to buy her something sweet and sugary if that would cheer her up, but Vyrn was completely blunt. He would punch that weapon nut in his face if he’d ever see Siete again, he vowed. She pacified her angry friend over and over again; that she was alright, that she was not hurt. Even if the information was wrong and they were led on a wild-goose chase - straight into a trap that nearly cost her her life. 

Siete did not realize they were all being fooled either. It was not his fault, nor anyone’s fault. She was just desperate for any clue to her father. Something bleak and angry rose inside her, and she unhooked her fingers to rub at her cheeks. Then, the Captain turned on her heel to return to her bunk, resolutely packed a small valise of clothes, and left a little note in the common room, addressed to her crew.

_I am going to Stardust Town. I will return in three days._

It was nearly dusk when she arrived at her destination. The tiny Engella that ferried her hummed, hovering into the air as the burly Draph pilot saluted, took his rupies and departed. She disembarked a little away from the main gates of the town, or what seemed to be gates, two worn timber poles that were marked with a badly chipped ‘Stardust Town’ in vertical lettering on each pole. 

The letters were almost worn off, likely by grubby children’s hands who used the poles like monkey bars. ‘Star...t Tow…’ she read silently in her head as she strolled into the town’s square, attempting to orientate herself. 

She remembered that the twins lived in a modest single-storied house just off the alley next to the town’s only marketplace. If only she figured which alley it should be. As she trudged along the dusty cobblestone road, her fingers gripped her bag tightly. A volley of excuses rippled through her mind - what was she going to say when she saw him? 

_Hello, I was told you broke your arm, so I’m here to see if you are alright._

_Good evening, I’m here to check on you._

_Is your arm better? Why didn’t you tell me you broke it?_

_You’re an adult. You should have taken better care of yourself._

_Why did you not tell me you broke your arm?_

She paused in her steps, realizing that she was panting a little more than usual, and her throat was nervously dry. Her bag felt heavy, her shoulders even more so. The girl stared glumly at the dust swirling about her boots and at her shadow lengthening across the path. 

The raucous laughter of children danced around the corner towards her.

She looked up and tilted her head, her attention shifting to the alley where the cheering and clapping drifted from. Following the sounds, she routed the corner and came to a T-junction. At the end was a small red-bricked house with a well-patched roof, a pretty garden full of blooming flowers, and a whole group of red-cheeked children clustering around a tall, broad-shouldered man. His right arm was set in a sling, and his left hand gripped a wooden sword. He swung the sword, dancing around the children as if he was slaying an imaginary dragon. Locks of sandy-blonde hair, wet with sweat, clung to his nape and the sides of his face. The children giggled and squealed as the man mimicked the dying cries of the beast and attempted to stab himself with his sword. 

He looked so carefree that she wondered if she made the right decision to come and see if he was well. An undertow of yearning lifted into her stomach as she watched him finish his little charade with the children. Her knuckles had whitened from all the pressure she was using to grip the handles of her bag.

Siete saw her the moment he lifted his hand to wipe at his sweaty brow, and he gaped in surprise. Immediately, the sword was tossed away, and he shooed the children off, insisting it was dinner-time, and they should be heading back to the hall to eat. A loud cry of disappointment rose into the air, but the Eternal sternly directed the small ones away. He called her name once, twice from where he stood in the garden, but she did not approach.

Instead, she took a distinct step back, the heel of her boot striking against a raised cobblestone. 

“Wait,” Siete shouted, nearly yelled and broke through a rose bush, no, two rose bushes and the low white-washed fence around the garden. His one good arm swung to unlatch the gate. Loose petals clung to his dark gray pants as he scrambled his way towards her.

“No, wait.” His hand shot out to grab her wrist, his grip tight. She grimaced. His skin was warm, heated by the sun, and his exertion earlier. Now that he was close, she made herself look up into his face, the flush of intense red flagging across his forehead and square jaw. His eyes held relief, but that look of his chafed at her.

She forgot everything she wanted to ask.

For moments, he held onto her wrist, watching the single expression on her face and her unchanging gaze. It was hot. She felt the sun lay a sinking stretch of heat and light across her back. Her shadow splayed across the blonde man’s chest and his open-collared shirt, shading the shape of his muscles beneath the fabric.

There was a small tug on her hand. He had slipped his fingers into hers while she was staring at him blankly.

“Come in.” A lopsided grin was now on his wide lips, his fingers clenched into hers, and they pressed into her palm invitingly. He rattled off, his voice bright and excited, “You must be hungry and tired. There’s roast chicken, steak and cheese pies, potato salad, strawberry pudding, and honey orange punch.” 

“What?” Surprised, her mouth twisted into an unbelievable downturn. He dropped her hand, and he bent to snap the valise away from her loosened grip. Now that he had her bag, he stepped behind her, nudging her shoulder with his forearm.

“Leftovers.” He told her with another of his loopy grins, and she shook her head, palming her forehead to ease away a headache that seemed to loom. “The twins had a party last night with the children before they left for Auguste this morning.”

“Siete…” She began, annoyance notching her tone. And she snapped her mouth shut upon hearing his words. The twins were not around.

“But I have stew,” The blonde man leaned close and interjected, his mouth close to her ear. “It’s done in the way you like too.”

“Stew?” A mote of disbelief clouded her voice, and an even tinier growl rumbling in her stomach reminded her she did not have dinner. She raked her eyes over his tall form, that right arm cast in a sling and his laughing green eyes. 

How even did he manage? Was his arm not broken as badly as she thought it was? And it was stew, simple old stew. The girl rolled her lower lip into her mouth and bit it. The man who commanded and led a fearsome company of some of the most powerful individuals in the Sky Realm. She had seen him impale hundreds of swords into his enemies ruthlessly and mercilessly cut off their heads.

This very same man, who would have torn down the skies thrice over with his swords, had cooked a plain pot of stew and was waiting for her.

“Yes, stew. It’s beef, with new potatoes and carrots. I’ve baked bread too.”

Now her mouth dropped, her jaw slackened, and she shook her head one more time. The Eternal straightened himself, a little proud of his announcement. “I did tell you I was a chef previously, no?”

She nodded her head. It was on one of her birthdays. He baked her a cake. It was tasty, she remembered, and the candles sparkled and burst into little fireworks of bright violets, blues, and golds when she blew them out. 

And the presents he gave her - a rose crystal necklace she sighed over in a shop in Albion, a music box with gold filigree that caught her eye at a trinkets store in Mizarea, a collection of old picture books from Siero’s Shack which reminded her of home. The gifts were expensive and rare; where ever did he even get the money for all that?

They walked around the two rose bushes he’d had half-trampled through when he rushed to her. The buds have fallen off their stalks, and half the blossoms now lay in broken petals on the newly-mowed grass.

“Esser is going to kill me.” He muttered under his breath, his boot moving to sweep some of the crushed petals under a bush surreptitiously. 

She let out a small laugh, in spite of her burdened thoughts, at his embarrassing admission and chagrin. 

“I’m sure she won’t if you explained everything to her properly.” She finally said a proper sentence for the first time since she arrived.

He harped about angry grudges and angrier Erunes and elbowed the unlocked wooden door, showing her in. They stood in the small parlor strewn with a haphazard collection of old furniture, a worn chaise covered with blue polka-dot fabric, a wooden table with two missing legs, and now balanced on an upturned flowerpot. A mismatch of shelves and cabinets lined the walls, decorated with mementos and souvenirs collected from all across the Sky Realm. Pictures hung haphazardly across the cheery yellow walls. There was a heap of children’s clothes on one of the large armchairs with a sewing box nestling next to a tiny half-folded jacket.

She sniffed the air. There was a delectable aroma in the house - the savoriness of stew bubbling away and the warm buttery scent of baked bread. The girl had half-hoped he lied about the stew. And that he would be hungry and in need of something to eat. 

And she would offer to take care of him. 

Curiously, she craned her neck, and secretly glanced at the open kitchen next to her, expecting a mess of utensils, vegetable peelings and half-washed bowls in the sink. What met her eyes was an immaculately clean counter and an old metal pot squat upon a stove. Clean bowls sat in a stack next to an empty sink, and the freshly-sliced bread was piled in a basket, half-covered with a kitchen towel. She pursed her lips glumly.

A short exclamation from Siete brought her out of her reverie, and he left her valise on the edge of the chaise. She brought her traveling bag, he finally realized, and it made him slightly happy. He called her name again and came to stand before her, his hand moving to clasp her fingers.

“What’s with that look, Captain?” He bent towards her, peering at her downturned mouth, and his hand left hers to palm her cheek lightly. “You don’t believe that I cooked the stew?”

“I do,” She gulped, face burning and shied barely from his touch, unsure of how to continue the conversation. He did not seem perturbed by her nervous state and ushered her to the tiny rickety table in the kitchen. Pulling out a chair for her, he bade the girl to sit down while he busied himself, ladling stew with his one good hand and heaping slices of bread in a basket.

She looked in wonderment at the steaming bowl filled with tender chunks of meat and rich brown sauce placed before her. He was waiting for her, that attractive, amiable smile still on his lips. The girl picked up a spoon, murmured a few words, and began to eat, a small smile finally breaking over her face at each mouthful of stew and bread. 

They ate in silence, and she lifted her gaze now and then from the diminishing contents of her bowl to look at him. His shirt opened to reveal the strong line of his throat, and she paused to stare at his features when he peered into his bowl or at the breadbasket. The light has soon faded from the outside, the copper hues in the kitchen fading to an ebbing purple. Siete took leave of the table for a moment, going to tap on the tin sparkers of the few lanterns that hung in the kitchen. 

She never exactly thought he was handsome. He did not have the chiseled features of a noble or the suave appearance of a prince. His mouth was large, his eyes a little too deep-set and big; his eyebrows were crooked streaks of blond across his broad forehead. His hair was a tangled, choppy mess of honey and sunlight, the golden locks curling everywhere with a mind of their own.

And he made the worst jokes ever.

She scraped the bottom of her bowl with her spoon, staring at her reflection in it. 

He made a soft sound, like the chirp of a bird. 

“I’m done. It was good stew.” She looked up now, praised him, and smiled faintly. “I’ll get the bowls cleaned. You should go rest for a while.”

The girl stood up quickly and grabbed his empty bowl and spoon before he could stop her. Siete relented, standing up as well, and without a word, he made his way to the parlor to rest as she had ordered him to. She did not take her time with the bowls and rinsed them as fast as she could. And then she called from the kitchen if he wanted hot tea.

She was met with silence. And the mellow warble of nightingales.

Drying her hands on a towelette, she decided she would not make tea and instead, return to the parlor to check on him. 


	6. Siete II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my beloved YK.

The Eternal was sprawled on the polka-dotted chaise, asleep. His chest rose in even falls. His broken arm, still in its sling, rested on his stomach. The man’s large body and long legs were too much for the small chaise, and his feet hung clumsily over the edge. The sight of him so awkwardly placed on the ridiculous baby-blue chaise made her chuckle. The glow of tiny fairy lights hung around the ceiling of the parlor cast a rather childish, baby-softness to his features.

She sat herself down on the carpet next to the chaise next to his sleeping face. Propping her elbow against the chaise’s edge, she leaned against the back of her hand and watched him bemusedly. He smelled like summer, hot sun, and saffron, a little bitter, a little dry. 

Remnants of his proposal, fragments of words and promises came back to her mind now. She sidled closer to the chaise, the fabric covering the furniture rustling against the front of her bodice. Her arms folded down, one on top of each other, and she rested her chin on them. She breathed in once, twice, and her breaths matched the rise and fall of his.

“I can’t promise you.” She swallowed and started to whisper to his sleeping face. “I have to go so far away, and you need to protect what we have here.” 

The girl burrowed her forehead heavily into her arms and sighed into them.

“There isn’t anything we can’t do together.” 

She blinked, her lashes scraping across her arm, and she peeped up. “What?”

“There isn’t anything we can’t do together,” Siete repeated, albeit a little more firmly with gentle cheer in his voice. He had sat straight up on the chaise, his knee next to her upturned face. His large hand moved to pat her head, smoothing down the messy locks of her hair. 

“You shouldn’t joke about such things.” She sat up as well, lifting her hand to push his hand away from her head. 

“I’m serious.” He told her, his voice deep and steady. Siete moved his hand back to rest on his knee and reminded her, his eyebrows quirking in an arch, “I know what you’re thinking, but I was serious two weeks ago. I’m still serious about this right now.”

She kept very quiet, and still, her eyes fixed on him, her mouth rounded to a goldfish’s gape. He laughed softly and winced.

“Not with that face again, Captain.” He urged her up to sit on the chaise next to him and kept his hand on hers. A strange quiet came over him before he started with a question.

“How many times have you called, and I’ve always been there?”

She kicked her shoes off and pulled her legs up. Curling her arms around her knees, she replied slowly, a vulnerability growing in her heart, “Every time.”

“How many birthdays have we celebrated together?” 

“Every birthday since I met you.”

“How many presents have I given you?”

“Many.” Her gaze drooped to her toes, and her fingers wound around the edge of her skirt.

_And I liked every single one of them._

“How…”

“Stop!” She cried and turned to him, pressing her palms over his mouth. His eyes crinkled up in amusement at her, and he laughed into her hands. She jerked her hands away, clenching them on her knees once more. He moved a little closer, till his arm pressed against hers.

“I like you.”

“What?”

“I like how kind you are, and the way you cheer your crew on.”

Her mouth did the little goldfish gape at him once more. 

“I feel really lucky to have met you and to have you by my side.” 

Siete’s smile grew wider as his confessions continued. She stared at him incredulously and felt her ears redden.

“Don’t go falling for me there, Captain.” He chuckled, his shoulders hunching up a moment before they sagged and relaxed. His lips pressed each other, drawing his large mouth into a flat line as he regarded her in contemplation.

He smiled once and leaned forward to kiss her. 

His upper lip touched hers, and with extreme care, he inched forward, angling his mouth with hers, urging, encouraging. She felt as if the space around them was folding in on itself, concentrated only between their mouths and the pleasant weight of his lips on hers. He moved his hand, cupping it around her neck and jaw to turn her face further towards him and continued to kiss her slowly. 

Then he released her, his mouth lifting away with a brief heated brush on her lips.

“You’re getting better.” 

Her eyes blinked, realizing her lips were slightly swollen from the kisses, and she looked up at him in confusion.

“Better at?”

“Kissing.” 

He smiled a little too smugly and straightened his back. Adjusting the straps of his sling, he pulled his injured arm tightly back towards his body. A frown started across her brow. What trick was he playing on her now? Her hand tingled and clenched into a fist. Suddenly, she wanted to punch him right where he hurt, right at that sling and his broken arm.

“You know, Captain,” Siete turned to her, regarded her angry face, and spoke slowly as if he was collecting his words from the air itself. “You know what you must do, and I have my ideals to follow. Our destinies lie at the end of different paths.”

He closed his hand over that fist she made.

“But, I’ll keep supporting you in any way I can.”

Her fingers relented and unfurled. She felt her eyelids tremble, and a tear threatening to well and slip from the corner of her eye. 

“And I’m sorry about that night. It wasn’t good for you, I suppose.”

He sounded utterly sincere and remorseful about his lack of constraint. 

“I am old enough to decide what is good for me, Siete. You don’t have to be sorry for anything.” 

The girl lifted her face towards his, her expression calm and collected. 

“And I was not avoiding you.” Siete pointed to his arm in the sling. “Esser insisted I must stay here and rest. And not do anything reckless.”

“Is your arm better now?” She mouthed at once, finally asking the question she had pondered and worried over. 

He wiggled the fingers of the injured hand and laughed his usual loud and bright laugh, relieved now. “They move.” 

Her fingers moved to grasp his wiggling fingers, curling over his knuckles. Leaning forward, she fitted her lips over his mouth. She kissed him and pushed him further down the length of the chaise, her slight weight coaxing him to lie back against the large cushion. Placing her hands flat on the chaise’s surface, the girl angled her head and kissed him even harder. She kept her body close, flattened against the left side of his chest, her hands moving to cling onto his shoulders for balance.

She pulled away, half straddled on the hard plane of his stomach, one leg buckled under another, another knee bent. Her breasts heaved, rose in short draws of breath. Her hands kneaded down his shoulder muscles.

Siete stared up at her, the look in his eyes helplessly floundering.

“Captain, if you continue this, I’ll be in a very bad state.”

“That will be both of us in a very bad state.”

She informed him precociously.

“What should we do then?”


	7. Siete III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my beloved YK.

_“What should we do then?”_

He asked in a gravelly tone, feeling his heart race and beat against the bottom of his throat. She was so close, she smelled nice, like sweet vanilla and jasmine in spring, like a sugar biscuit. His hand moved and rested on her thigh, his fingers bunching the fabric of her skirt. 

“We’ll do what’s needed to fix the bad state.” She nodded her head decidedly, her arms twisting around to unhook her bodice and roll down her dress. Her innerwear and chemise were undone, and she dropped them in a heap on the carpet. Completely naked, her small hands pressed on his chest, her fingers working on the rest of the buttons of his shirt, and slid the garment open. 

She knuckled the knit muscles of his belly, and he pressed a heated hand to her naked hip. 

A sigh escaped her mouth. She was not sure how to do this anymore. 

“Undo my pants, Captain.”

Siete pushed her a little, so she sat on his thighs. Now he took her hand and guided that hand to the closed placket at the inseam. Her fingers went to work, pulling at buttons, the heels of her palms brushing against his groin. In one sure grip, she yanked his pants down around his waist, along with his underwear. 

“Heavens...”

Siete muttered, almost cursed now his cock was released without much mercy, and it rested stiffly on his stomach, its reddened crown easing against his navel. And he cursed silently at his broken arm as well. 

“What now?” She whispered, her voice cracking and all her earlier bravado about fixing the situation dissipated. Her eyes stared at the entire length of him, and her hands trembled against his hips.

_How did something of this size fit into her that night?_

He sighed, banishing the curses to the back of his mind. “Come, sit on my stomach,” Siete instructed, moving his hand to rest above her butt and eased her forward. She scrambled towards him, her thighs riding softly over his erection. He felt a jolt, and an erotic heat spread across his belly.

Siete cursed again. A curse of happiness and she tilted her head at him, her eyes rounding in disbelief at that expletive.

“Just stay there and bend down.” 

She complied, lowering herself towards him. He craned his head to catch her lips, his mouth covering hers in rapid kisses. His one good hand cradled the undercurve of a breast and moved to the other breast before he palmed her waist, urging her forward so he could kiss and lick at her throat. She writhed once and panted from his kisses, streaking his skin with wetness.

“What else?” She had curved her body downwards, pressing her breasts against his chest, feeling the layers of his shirt crumpled against her naked skin. He turned to kiss her hair and shifted his hand down her bottom, reaching further between her thighs and forced them apart. 

“This.”

He told her, and his fingers slipped into her, pressing against wet pleats and softness. The girl gasped and clung to him tightly, her knee unconsciously moving dangerously near his broken arm. Siete immediately pulled his fingers out from her and heeled that knee, pushing her to straighten her leg.

That was close. Too close everywhere. Right now, his cock was so hard that it hurt like the devil.

She cried a simpering protest that he stopped touching her, and he flattened his hand on her back, cajoling her down once more into kisses. She obeyed, with a couple of soft moans as her body twisted, her thighs shifting to clamp over his bulge.

“No, don’t.” Siete groaned. The weight of her on his cock brought pain and pleasure at once. The sensation blunted through his stomach and down his spine. 

“No?” The girl felt herself twitch and twist, as her damp thighs came into contact with the silk-smooth skin of his erection. 

“I mean, yes.” He corrected himself with a growl as she shifted down towards his groin, her fingers working down the corded muscles of his stomach, tapping at the moist strands she had trailed down his skin. “Yes. Just...” 

Siete grappled for something to say, but all his instructions were burned away as she lifted herself up and slowly eased herself into him. His tip bulged, slipped half into her, and his hand shot out, grasping her thigh to slow her descent onto it. 

“Slowly.” He gasped and stroked the flushed skin of her inner thigh, dusting a thumb across her folds. Her toes curled into the polka-dot fabric as her belly tensed wickedly to sink further down until she let out a loud cry, her knees clamping his hips. 

“You’re good now.”

She turned red at his affirmation. Siete levered up his chin to look at her, her flushed face and locks of hair plastered to her cheeks and neck. His groin jerked upwards, nudging her in slow strokes and encouraging her to react in return; his fingers traced circles on her stomach and moved down to where they were joined, pulling light flicks across her skin.

She rolled her fingers on his sweaty chest and lifted herself barely upwards before slipping down again, wanting to match the little thrusts that he was giving her. In, and further in, his tip rooted deep, pressing into her wet flesh. Curling her knees, she tightened her legs about him and stiffened, her face pressing against his chest in a series of gasping tiny moans as she clenched tightly around him.

Something burned intensely through her as he plunged against her rapidly, now that she had stopped moving. 

“Captain.” He whispered fiercely, his hand forcefully gripping her hip. “Get yourself off me.”

She laid there and refused, replete in her after-orgasm, and she stretched forward, kissing him to shut him up. He groaned another warning against her mouth, and that was too quickly drowned by her tongue against his teeth. 

Siete cursed silently for the last time against her lips and grasped her bottom, fitting her tight against himself. She lifted her hips at his urges, slippery flesh folding around him, and he welled, emptying himself within her. 

The girl pulled herself away from his mouth, blinked at him, and rolled herself off his body. Panting, she had squeezed herself against him, her body resting barely on the edge of the chaise. She curled against his good arm, clutching at his bicep and pressed her small hand over his pounding heart. 

They were both quiet for a long moment, listening to each other as they caught their breath.

“This is a nice house.” She spoke first, murmuring against his arm. “I like fairy lights.”

“I can buy you a nice house.” He turned to look at her, his mouth widening into a smile. 

She shook her head against his arm.

“No, I don’t want you to buy me a nice house.”

Siete leaned in, kissing her cheek.

“I’ll buy you a new sword then, wait; I’ll give you a new sword.”

He grinned against her face.

“Pick a number, Captain. From one to three thousand.”

She groaned, clenched her fingers, and punched his broken arm.


	8. Seruel I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my beloved YK.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

_Dear Captain_

_I hope you are well._

_My brother and I miss your presence dearly in Alster since your departure for Agastia. The rebuilding is still ongoing successfully, and we are ever grateful for all the support you and your crew had given us. Recently, the Parliament has decided to start several tourism ventures. Unfortunately, or fortunately, one of their grand plans was to have a series of tours based on the royal heritage of Alster, and this greatly involves myself and Seruel. For this work, the Parliament compensated us with a new home, but of course, this home comes with a price._

_We have been so busy. The royal gardens were replanted beautifully, and part of the old palace was rebuilt for our new visitors. Seruel did that all, I am so proud of him. And I was delightfully tasked with some work that, thankfully, I found enjoyable, and it put my skills to use. But, at the last heritage gala we hosted, my brother fell short of expectation. Despite his surprising popularity with the visitors and dignitaries, his actions and behavior displeased the ministers._

_Naoise and I have tried our best to persuade him that now we are merely ordinary employees of the new government, and we must do our best to support these initiatives. He insists we are making a mockery out of our lineage and refuses to have any more involvement._

_I only wish the best for Alster. I am no longer a royal princess, just a loyal citizen._

_My brother is a stubborn man. If there is anyone who could change his mind and move his heart, it would be you._

_Please come see him. I will be most grateful._

_Faithfully Yours_

_Heles_

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The Grandcypher docked at Alster Island three days later. It was early autumn for Alster, and the island was blessed with balmy winds from the east and soft sunlight. The crew thankfully welcomed the fresh air and mild weather, glad to leave the stifling atmosphere of Agastia behind. 

Although parts of the city and suburbs were still rebuilding, the main residential and commercial quarters were thoroughly restored. Alster was vibrant now with bustling shopping streets and rowdy marketplaces. Her main roads were fixed and re-paved, and her citizens found comfort and joy once more in their new homes. 

The Captain surveyed the docks for a moment as she lifted her arms to stretch. She loved Alster and loved the overflowing optimism of this island. Rivers of people slipped past where she stood. She lifted her head, listening to the lively shouts of men as they moved the latest imports from the docked airships. And she smiled sentimentally at the cheerful cries of hellos and goodbyes. 

A genuine admiration rose within her for the man had dutifully worked to rebuild his broken country. 

Heles’ letter was tucked into the pocket of her dress. She felt the parchment crinkle against the fabric and her skin, reminding her of the reason to come to Alster.

_Seruel._

Lyria’s animated giggles and Vyrn’s enthusiastic chatter broke her thoughts. The excitement of her crew was infectious, and they were exceptionally eager to explore Alster’s newest offerings. However, she insisted that everyone must greet the former princess before they went on their adventures. 

Heles was waiting for them at the Grandcypher’s dock. She was dressed very simply in a plain sunny yellow dress. A white straw hat with a brim so wide perched on her head, the brim shading her pretty features. Her silver-white hair was plaited into a long neat braid down her back. Upon sighting the crew so beloved to her, Heles lifted a hand and beckoned the Captain. Greetings were exchanged cheerfully, with affectionate hugs and endearing exclamations from Heles to each one of them. Immediately, the Erune girl provided directions to the newest attractions in Alster and urged the crew to explore the Autumn Faire. 

After her crew had gallivanted away in joy, the Captain turned to Heles. With much gravity, she retrieved the letter from her pocket and lifted her brow questionably at the Erune girl. Heles folded her hands before her, a sigh winding from her lips.

“I tried to speak to him again last night. He still refuses to be part of the upcoming Gala.” 

Heles’ ears twitched, the brown furry tips wavering in frustration. 

She glanced once at the letter in the Captain’s hand and padded her fingers against her forehead, “He told me he disliked dancing. He broods and ignores my words. And he refuses to tell me what’s going on in that stubborn head of his.”

As Heles vented, the Captain eyed the letter for a moment before pocketing it. 

“When is the next Gala?” She asked, quite empathetic and somewhat curious. 

“Three more days.” Heles’ lips pressed into a thin hyphen, and her hands clenched into fists.

Stretching out her arm, the Captain patted Heles’ arm, and worked her fingers over Heles’ tightened fist. 

“Should I go see him today then?” She suggested, tilting her head inquiringly.

“You could?” Heles’ mouth widened gratefully, and hope flitted across her face. “I was thinking, perhaps tomorrow. You’d just arrived, and you might be tired.”

The Captain squeezed the Erune girl’s fingers.

“It’s alright. It’d be better for you if I could speak to Seruel immediately.” 

Heles’ face brightened.

“He’s working today, but he’ll make time for you.” Heles beamed, elated, and encouraged perhaps her pigheaded younger brother would finally relent and be enlightened. She slipped her arm through the Captain’s, urging the latter to follow. “Come with me, we’ll go to the office.”

The main office where the siblings worked was situated in a generous expanse of space. It took up the entire second floor of a stone manor built next to the refurbished royal gardens. The first floor was a brilliant ensemble of white-tiled pillars, winding staircases, and colonnaded lightwells. Sunlight slipped in from overhead, splaying in radiant orange discs across and down all three floors of the building. Parts of this manor were reconstructed to resemble the old palace, Heles told her solemnly as they climbed the wide staircase to the next floor.

The Erune girl’s voice brimmed with quiet pride as she described the inspirations behind the building’s design - much of which Heles attributed to Seruel’s diligence and astuteness. 

There was a row of restored paintings hung along a long corridor facing the second floor’s landing. The Captain paused in her steps, noticing the pictures, a brief note of recognition in her expression.

Portraits of the former king and queen. And the old rulers of Alster.

She wondered about the paintings and felt a brief twinge of sympathy. Next to her, she could hear Heles draw in a shaky breath, and the Erune girl’s fingers reached out, tapping the Captain’s arm. 

Heles’ fingertips were cold.

“The office is on the right.” The Erune girl nudged at the Captain’s arm, steering the latter towards their destination. As they walked and their footfalls made muffled echoes through the building, Heles took in another breath, composing herself. 

The doors to Seruel’s office were open. Upon entry, a massive desk piled with papers commanded her sight. He was behind that desk, his silvery-white hair mussed, and his head bent over the pages of a large journal in which he was writing in. One of his dark brown ears was turned down, the tip crooked in concentration as his pen scraped over the pages, marking out inconsistencies in the numbers. Late afternoon sunlight sifted in through the row of elegantly arched palladium windows behind the desk, layering the floor with long translucent strips of pale orange.

Heles rapped sharply on one of the doors. 

In a large chair at the far end of the same desk, Naoise glanced up. He was arranging letters in a tray, his hands stained from breaking wax seals. The knight seemed confused momentarily to see the slender frame of the Captain next to Heles. 

The Erune girl coughed softly at Naoise as she jerked her chin towards her brother. She pushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear anxiously. Seruel was single-mindedly absorbed in checking the accounts and unaware of them.

Awareness slowly shuttled over Naoise’s angular features, and he leaped to his feet. Leaning forward and avoiding the haphazard mountains of papers, the knight whispered to Seruel that they had company, and he will be back quickly with tea for Lady Heles and the Captain.

The Captain?

Seruel peeled his attention away from the journal, lifting his gaze, his eyes narrowed in blunt shock at the blond man. Naoise stammered an excuse and promptly retreated from the table. 

“Seruel, do you have time?” Heles stepped in, her heels clicking impatiently on the polished tiles. She paused to embrace Naoise briefly before the tall blond man slipped out of the room.

Seruel rose from his chair, his palms flattening against the pages of the journal. His reply was caught in his throat on sighting the girl next to his elder sister. 

The girl smiled, tilting her head to regard him.

He returned the Captain’s smile with a tightened expression, and he felt his lips wrench and pull apprehensively. He was happy to see her, yet his mind seethed. His elder sister was indeed sly to bring the Captain here, and he knew precisely what his sibling wanted out of this.

“I have time.” He replied tersely, his brown eyes shifting from Heles’ expectant face to the Captain’s, without realizing the irritation in his voice. His ears stiffened, the furred tips flaring outwards.

He would put a stop to whatever Heles had planned.

“But if it is about the Gala, I do not wish to discuss it.”

“Seruel!” Heles frowned, her cheeks flushing an ugly red, “Why must you always act like a petulant child?”

“I am not a child.” Her brother lifted his head and anchored his gaze straight at her, his eyes hardening to a dark shade of umber, “And I do not think I wish to repeat all that I said previously before our guest, sister.”

Seruel gestured vaguely at the Captain, and his hand dropped down to the open pages of the accounts book he was working on earlier. With a forceful flip, he closed the journal, the heavy cover thudding on the pages. 

Heles took a threatening step forward, determined to school her obstinate little brother about loyalty and duty. She was about to take another step when a hand reached out to pull her back. The Captain kept her grasp on Heles’ arm firmly and regarded the angry Erune girl with calm in her eyes.

“Let me talk to him.”


	9. Seruel II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my beloved YK.

Naoise had returned discreetly to the office. He’d left tea and cookies for Seruel and the Captain, as well as brewed another large pot of tea for the extremely rankled Heles. The knight had urged the Erune girl to rest in her room on the third floor. With infinite patience, he escorted both the pot of lavender tea and the very exasperated girl upstairs. 

Seruel shut the doors of his office, his head drooping drudgingly as he latched the lock. Dusk had settled in, casting the walls and furniture in the dull reds and violets of impending twilight. The Erune moved to tap the lanterns attached to the pillars, buying a little time to compose himself. 

She sat on the upholstered couch in the middle of his office. Now that it was quiet, she noticed another pleasant mixture of scents in the air - the mellow vanilla of candle wax and the herbal smell of old vellum, ink, and leather covers. It was the same sweet, calming scent on his letters to her. The girl drew in another breath, sentimental and nostalgic. On the low mahogany table, the tea, in its white porcelain pot, smelled inviting. A plate of perfectly-browned cookies, topped with crystallized rose petals, was placed next to her cup. She did not touch anything, and her eyes trailed his lean, taut form as he moved from one lantern to the other.

Her hands smoothed down the hem of her dress over her knees, her mind dwelling on what she would say to him. Her throat felt dry.

She reached out for the pot, intending to pour a cup for herself to steady her nerves before speaking to Seruel. 

“Allow me,” Seruel muttered, coming into her space and settling himself next to her on the couch. The cushion depressed with his weight. She retreated her hands and folded them on her knees.

He poured a measure of tea gracefully into her cup. 

She watched him in silence. He was dressed in light gray slacks and a traditional backless dress-shirt, the fine cotton material hanging on his muscular frame loosely. The white shirt left his back bare. She’d seldom seen Seruel attired in such a simple manner, and he made the most common of clothes look refined and sophisticated. 

His resentful look from earlier had withered away. The lanterns’ yellowish glow cast obscured angles on his face ,and she noticed faint dark circles under his eyes. 

“Thank you,” She murmured, accepting the cup he had brought up to her line of sight. The steam curled off the honey-brown surface of the tea, caramel and maple assuaging her nose. He focused on filling his cup, and his face angled away from her sight. She observed his profile in fleeting appreciation.

She always thought he was beautiful, Seruel. Beautiful like how snow would fleck stubbornly on the branches of trees in winter, beautiful like how the moon would cast its steadfast glow upon a stormy sea. His lips were set in a brooding down-curve as he settled against the couch.

Seruel turned to her as she sipped the hot tea from her cup. He waited, his mouth grim and taut until she finished a bit of her drink and placed the cup on the table.

“If this is about the Gala…”

She smiled at him. A tiny smile, perched like a butterfly upon the delicate curves of her lips.

“How are you, Seruel?”

He blinked, disarmed and startled by her question. It stung his defenses a little. His eyes widened, the cinnamon of his irises intensifying at that _mundane_ question. The sound of his indrawn breath cut through the space between his gaze and her unwavering look.

“I have been well.”

Seruel lowered his eyes to hide his surprise. She retrieved her cup from the table to take another sip, clinking the cup on its saucer. Unsure of what else to say, he lifted the plate of cookies, lamely offering them to her. He was uncertain of what else to say apart from a report on his activities. "Naoise and I have been busy checking the granaries and designing a new aqueduct."

The girl appeared pleased as she listened to him. She picked a cookie from the plate, taking a bite and a nibble.

"Did you bake these?"

He nodded. He had made them sweet and flaky, and it came apart in her fingers and on her lips. Her tongue dipped out, the pink tip licking up a bit of cookie on her fingers.

Charmed by the way she ate, he lifted his thumb to dust a stray crumb from the side of her mouth.

Her eyes widened at his touch. Flustered, she scraped her mouth hastily with the back of her hand, her fingers bumping against his knuckles. The girl withdrew her hand swiftly and stared at it. Her face was wrought in a fierce blush. 

Seruel laughed softly, his spirits lifting for a bare moment. He reached out to her again, easing the cup from her hand, placing the receptacle on the table.

_He had missed her._

The letters she sent every month could not replace her presence. He oft wondered of what he wrote, if the feelings hidden in his writing were one-sided. He took his drink and brought his cup to his mouth, the hot tea scalding his tongue and his thoughts.

“Seruel?” She turned to him and called his name, her fingers rolling into fists on her knees. The Erune looked at her, his silvery brows arched as he took a last steadying drink of tea. The cup and its saucer were set back down on the table with a low thud. 

He knew her question. He answered her right away before she could continue.

“I never wished to disappoint my elder sister.” Seruel paused and then spoke again, his voice edged with wryness and consternation, “Involving myself in such foolery would only mean selling my lineage in exchange for an existence.”

He continued heavily, that sliver of guilt repetitive. “Betraying my father and my father’s father.” 

There was a break in his words, a choked sound which he hurriedly swallowed down. His tone grew husky and vulnerable.

“I was raised to become a king. To protect Alster and her people.” He stared at the girl, his eyebrows notching so close to each other, as if that motion would hold his broken pride together.

“I was not raised to be a clown.”

She listened to him, watched how his shoulders adamantly hunched and drooped in bone-weariness. Her small hands reached forth, palming on his thigh, and she leaned in. He reacted at her touch, drawn to her closeness. The girl’s hands lifted, and clasped Seruel’s face, her fingers pressing lightly and tracing the jut of his jaw. 

Time was caught in this shadowed, lantern-lit room where her hands held his face so gently like a dove’s feathered wings. Her expression was sad, but it was not pity nor sympathy. He watched her for a long time, his fingertips moving to smooth away at the gloss of dampness under her searching eyes. She was quiet. 

Then, with tenderness, she folded her arms around him.

Her hands rested on the bare expanse of his back, and his muscles throbbed tensely under her touch. She rested her chin on his shoulder for a moment, drawing in his scent - fresh, earthy, sweet like cut dewed grass in late spring and a touch of a too-early summer. Seruel leaned into her embrace, wrapping his large hands around her lithe shoulders and hugged her close.

She whispered into his ear, her slender body arching upwards to reach the top of his head. Her cheek brushed against his silvery-white locks of hair. 

“I’ve seen what you have done for Alster,” Her lower lip kissed the furred edge of his ear, her mouth worked into a small smile, “You’ve worked hard.”

The girl settled herself down, her fingers curling on his shoulders, her knees slightly bent against his hip as she knelt on the cushion of the couch. Her skirt bunched around her thighs. She regarded Seruel, her eyes solemn, her face serious. 

“Why not take this chance they offer, to honor your love for this country?” She asked him, tilting her head. One of her hands moved to grasp his, weaving her fingers into his long, large ones. “Teach everyone the heritage of your ancestors. Tell them their stories, your stories, your father's stories.” 

She lifted their linked hands and pressed his knuckles against his cheek. 

He listened silently, watching her, his equilibrium betrayed only by the conflicting emotion rising in his eyes and he snapped.

"I'm no longer a prince. Why would that even matter?"

"You're still the son of your father, Seruel." She steeled herself, as if she could draw courage from air, her voice raising a notch. "Don't you run away from all that and who you are."

Her eyes were locked on the intensity of his gaze, and how deep and dark his stare upon her was, and how deathly silent he had become.

“You might be correct,” He grunted after a long time. Nonetheless, it was a willing admission, and he bowed his head, contrite. Something was there in his chest, disturbing and uncomfortable. He needed to do something to untangle that burden.

Relieved at his acceptance, the girl let out a breath. Slowly, she unbent her knee to straighten her leg and move away. Before she could release her hand from his, Seruel gripped her fingers tightly, pulling her close.

Her knees buckled underneath her. She gasped.

And before she could think or move or draw in a second breath, he bent his head and kissed her.

The press of his lips against hers was soft, burning, and heavy. He had tilted the girl’s head, angling her face so he could fit his mouth to hers again. His hands glided to her lower back, and he urged her towards him. 

His kisses felt empty and deprived. As if he was trying to suck all her strength from her. 

Her distressed moan made Seruel break away. He still held her close, but his head was lowered and his eyes lidded, his lashes shading his disconcerted gaze. 

“I apologize,” He sputtered, shaking his head. His ears drooped, the heat of shame edging up his neck.

_What did he just do?_

He had always behaved around her, kept his affection formally to his letters, kept their rare interactions guarded and chaste. 

Kept his kisses courteous, polite, and respectful.

He stared at her mouth, vividly rouged by his frenetic kisses.

He remembered how she tasted. 

Rose sugar, and bitter caramel. A hint of honey and maple. He colored deeply again at the memory, and at something else that was equally wanting. 

She was breathing hard, trying to catch her own breath, her hands clasped on his heaving shoulders. Seruel’s breaths gusted against her neck. He was warm and hard beneath the crumpled fabric of his shirt. 

And he was warm and hard elsewhere too beneath the soft flesh of her thighs. The tips of her ears flamed.

“No, no.” She hushed him now that she’d had caught her breath, and before that wall came up around him again. She silenced him with her fingers on his mouth. “Don’t apologize. I did not dislike it.”

Her gaze dwelt pensively on the Erune’s lowered head and the flattened furred edges of his ears. She was still straddled across his lap, the source of his embarrassment dangerously firm beneath the fabric of his slacks. Her ears felt hot, and her face was red. But she clapped her hands on his face to bring _him_ away from precarious contemplation.

“Do you have to dance at the Gala?” She asked, smoothing her thumbs across his knitted brow. 

“I had to. Heles arranges this. Who I speak to, dance with, and socialize with.”

His handsome face contorted into a preoccupied grimace. A wave of understanding came over her. It was difficult for him, being the austere, serious personality he was. 

“You must be very popular.” She teased, her fingers trailing his cheeks and plumping them fondly against his sharp cheekbones. “Were there any ladies you liked? A princess? A duchess? Maybe…”

“None.”

Seruel interjected, stopping her chatter, his tone disquietingly upset.

In her attempt to rectify, she blundered and realized her words hurt. Her hands slid warily from his face. Attempting to push herself off his lap, she wanted to escape to a more proprietary position. Seruel gripped her wrists and stopped her from moving away. Her thighs scraped against his groin, and he bit his lip, muffling a choking sound from his throat.

“I’m sorry.” She breathed brokenly, frozen and caught. Her head canted down in shame. 

“Look at me.” One of his hands uncaptured her wrist, and he hooked an insistent finger beneath her chin, coaxing her to lift her gaze.

_He needed to know._

His eyes studied her intently, “Tell me, why did you decide to come here?”

She inclined forward, resting her forehead on his, feeling fervent and restless. Her eyes tightened to a close, her lashes fluttering against his skin. 

He was not angry. Relieved, the girl opened her eyes bravely.

“I missed you.” She confessed and kissed him so delicately that it felt like breath. “And when Heles told me you’re troubled, I had to come to see you.”

Seruel’s chest tightened at her words. It was overwhelming, his emotions. 

They shattered his resolve in places he never knew that he’d hurt. And it made him want, what he never thought could be possible.

He tangled his fingers into her hair, cupped her nape, and brought her mouth back to his again. Shivers chased through her small body as he kissed her over and over. He held her close, held her so tight, afraid that if he let go of her mouth, she’d wisp away like clouds.

Her palms and breasts strained against the thin cloth of his shirt. He indulged her mouth so desperately till her legs wrenched longingly across his thighs.

This time, with all the courage he could gather, and as much kingly demeanor he could muster, he took up her hands and pressed soft kisses to her fingertips.

And Seruel asked, his voice perplexed and low.

“Are you willing to have me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter read again and was a little unsatisfied of the tension between our MC and Seruel. There's some additional edits to bring out the pressure in their relationship and of his inner struggle.
> 
> Seruel always struck me as a man who is very guarded and formal. He is very mannered and civil in public (if you are to think of a princely upbringing.) The lack of love, the strong guilt and blame from his father led to a huge wall around his heart. I find he lapsing back into childishness sometimes, and in those moments, attempting to get back a bit of that childhood which was taken from him. MC's kindness and her friendship would had provided him a safe harbor if only he would rest his sails there. 
> 
> One of the most challenging men, I think... to bring to life in my writing.


	10. Seruel III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to my beloved YK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited. Some parts of the story-line may have changed. If you had read this prior to the time-stamp for updates, you might wish to re-read it for changes.

Seruel stood there, before the opened door of his bedroom, carrying her like a newly wedded bride. Dimly, she remembered the moments from his office and up the stairs, that she had kissed him in assent to his question. He stopped before his affection did get the better of him and gathered her in his arms.

Turning her head, she peered into the dappled darkness of the interior. The tawny glow from the corridor’s lamps had splintered over the furniture inside, beveling the edges of cabinets, a table, and his bed. She smelled roses, subtly sweet and chased by a dusting of lavender. 

He took her inside, and the scent of roses grew fantastic, making her heady. Heeling the bottom of his door, he kicked it shut. She was lifted to sit on his bed, her feet dangling over the edge of the high mattress. 

The Erune had silently moved away to the front of his bed, tapping on two lanterns. Amber light suffused the bedroom, gliding their faces and bodies. 

There were just but a few more questions he had to ask. He had to make sure.

Seruel returned and knelt before her. Her heart thumped unevenly as he drew close, the hard planes of his chest pressed against her knees. 

He looked deeply thoughtful.

“What do you want to ask me?” The girl ventured, uncannily aware. He drew his hands to hers and clasped them tightly.

“Would I be your first?” He asked, his heartbeat wild in his chest, his expression wrought and grave. 

She blinked, and her earlobes turned scarlet, the redness spreading into the apples of her cheeks. The smallest of frowns passed over his features at her reaction. She noticed the troubling grimace on his mouth and tightened her grasp on his hands. 

_Was he that worried?_

“Seruel.” She called him, stroking his fingers. “I am not glass. I will not break.” 

He reflected on her words, preoccupied. She bit her lower lip, deciding to be blunt.

“Do you know what to do?” 

He gave her a cursory look, his eyes narrowed for a second, and his countenance weighed with sobriety.

“I had been taught.” He lifted himself, unbending his knees and taking his hands away from hers. Gently, he gripped her shoulders, urging her to lie back on the mattress. “As a prince who was to be king.”

“Taught?” She seemed intrigued by this admission of experience. Her head rested on the pillows, and the scent of him, musky, rich, aristocratic, filled her. 

“Yes, taught.” He felt reason gnaw at him to explain himself. “Taught to secure the continuity of our line, and measures to take, should I be compromised.”

She looked at him in blank wonderment, a wry smile crossing her lips and shook her head slowly. 

“I was only taught once.” He assured her.

Oh, he was so worried, so dull, so pragmatical! She regretted her curiosity immediately. 

“You’ll be able to teach me then.” The girl attempted to tease, her voice playful and whimsy

“I will not hurt you.” He said gravely, climbing up the bed and looming over her, his large body shadowing her smaller frame. Resting his weight on a forearm on the mattress, he placed his hand upon her chest. "And after tonight, you will belong to me."

“I trust you.” She whispered back, clutching his hand. Splaying his fingers apart, she flattened his palm where her heart lay, piqued by his sudden claim on her.

“Are you still willing to have me?” He rasped, feeling the softness of her breasts pliant beneath his fingers and the consecutive chaotic beats of their hearts.

She looked at him, her eyes luminous. 

“Yes.”

Seruel kissed her lips once and drew his hands down her legs to her shoes. He took her shoes off and paused to press fleeting kisses to her bare ankles. Next, he rose, unclipping the bands of his shirt and undressed. She had watched him as he turned to her - tall and noble, his sharp features light-softened. The long locks of his white hair strayed down the ripped muscles of his chest. He returned to the bed, curving his body over hers, his motions sleek like a wolf’s, like a leopard’s.

His fingers had reached out to loosen her bodice, hooking his fingers into her collar and sagged it down to free her breasts for him. He caressed a breast, stroking its smooth underside, and bent down to kiss her.

There was his taste again in her mouth. It was clean and sweet, that dewed, grassy scent of early summer.

“So beautiful.” He hummed against her mouth, passion thickening his voice and brought her further up his bed. 

She smiled at his compliment though her mind debated his honesty. Or it was sincere, or was it his manners speaking? Her thoughts were interrupted as one of his knees slid carefully between her thighs, pushing her skirt up and bunching it at her hips. 

“Did they teach you how to praise too?” She murmured her thoughts out loud. His knee moved again farther up, and it pressured her intimately.

“No,” Seruel said darkly, his hands moving to the small of her back. He propped her up to lean against the pillows. At the same moment, he worked on the buttons behind her dress, popping them open. Loosening the garment, he slipped it entirely off her, leaving her bare and her only modesty a tiny slip of lily-white underwear. 

“You’re beautiful, and I do not need to be taught that.”

His reply was dour and pointed.

She held a giggle under her tongue at his answer. Woe betwixt any lady who would become his wife. His bed manners were so terribly dismal.

That giggle was smothered too soon as he lowered his face to her breasts, licking her nipples, his tongue flattening around each tip to rouse them into hardness. Her fingers reached into his hair, tousling his thick locks and stroked the soft downy fur on the inner curves of his ears. 

A breath snapped from Seruel’s mouth. His ears twitched violently, heat coursing through them. 

He was so hard, so heavy, and he wanted to sink himself into her badly. His erection tented massively in his slacks, and it frustrated him. But her pleasure was his priority. It was how he was educated. He sucked in a few deep breaths and thumbed under her panties, rolling the tiny garment away from her legs.

“What else did they teach you?” She asked breathlessly as he parted her thighs to skate a finger around and over her soft wet folds. He lingered over a particularly sensitive spot that made her hitch her breath in her throat. 

“How to kiss, where to use my fingers.” 

He informed her and drove his finger into her, his thumb flicking on that same spot. It elicited a keen sound from her. Encouraged, he slid in another finger, pressing both digits on the drenched interior. Now, she gasped, feeling full of him.

_Who they were, or what it was, certainly taught him well._

“Do you like this?” Seruel asked, lying down next to her. She nodded, inching closer to him, wanting the hardness of his chest against her soft breasts. He settled next to her, licking and biting the fragile skin of her throat. His fingers continued to pump rhythmically into her till his hand was drenched. 

The girl curled towards him, moaning softly as her spine curved, an orgasm shuddering through her gradually from within. He kissed the heated skin of her ear, sliding a third finger into her trembling folds. He pushed, expanded, and widened her further.

Her voice lifted fervently. 

“No, I can’t anymore,” She turned to him and bit his neck. An intensely warm wave rose along her spine. Her hands balled into fists to smack against his chest.

“You need to.” There was a strained urgency in his voice. He stroked her for another moment, and she writhed on his fingers. 

“No, no more…” She clamped her teeth into his shoulder as his fingers dipped even deeper into her.

Seruel clasped her tighter and closer. He rolled her hips and pushed his thumb barely in, flicking against her clit, tempting more wetness from within. “Just a little bit more.”

He was finally content with the state that she was in. Withdrawing his fingers, he left the bed and undressed, slipping his slacks off. That garment was placed neatly together with his shirt, and her dress on the far end of his bed. Seruel returned to the side of the bed where she laid, her eyes half-lidded, deluged with desire. Calling her name, he stroked her warm cheek with a finger. Her eyelids wavered, lifted, and her sights focused on his nakedness. 

The girl eased herself upright as she felt his fingers slip into her hair, touching the back of her head to turn her face to him.

He was _immense._

Though not in extremely crude or vulgar manner. 

He was very erect, and his cock jutted sleekly upwards to his navel. His stomach was flat, grooved in pleasing places, the lines of his muscles symmetrical and honed. Her hands moved unconsciously to his slim hips, cupping them with her fingers.

“What must I do?” She asked, gazing up at him.

Silently, his hands fell to her wrists to direct her hands to his cock. The girl tucked her legs underneath her to steady herself as he arrested her hands.

Her fingers were then guided and glided across his curving length. Then, he wrapped her palms on his glans and moved them to stroke the large vein that ran underneath. She was ordered. Much instructed, and directed to touch him in the places that quickened his breath. 

Her fingers found his knot, and she pressured his skin, exploring its firmness. A thatch of silvery-white hair fringed the base of his knot, and she played with the stiff, short strands. It made him shudder, and a string of hollow breaths vibrated in his lungs. She seized his knot, riveting her palms on his mass. There was a scar like a ring on his skin, just below the head of his cock. She stroked curiously and eagerly around it. The circle of raised, puckered skin seemed too neat to be an injury or a blemish. 

A flush of dampness welled within her. It slicked, lewd and lavish, down her legs. Her thighs were starting to clamp in itching discomfort. She wanted _all_ of him inside her. 

Seruel released her hands abruptly, a sharp groan brutally tumbling out of him. His cock jerked forcibly forward, and minute droplets of pale white liquid spilled forth into her hands, sticky and thick.

Ah, she smirked inwardly. He could be made so helpless like this. But before she could celebrate that small triumph over his composure or do more to send him into sweet dissolution, she was pulled up to stand.

“That is enough.”

Seruel turned her around, pulling her ass against his groin. He stood behind her, and had her kneel on the bed, his hands controlling her movements. 

She held her breath as he weighed her down, his body pressed down on her back. Kisses nipped and meandered down her back from her neck, and he bit her where she was soft and willing. His shadow loomed over her, crumpling across the bedsheets. 

His finger arched to spread her for him, the swollen head of his cock sliding inside. With one hand, he kept her parted, widened, and dreadfully wet for his passage.

“Seruel!” 

She cried his name a few times, and her teeth clamped on her lower lip. Soon, she was motionless, the muscles of her belly tightening, and her thighs locked his hand. His freed hand secured her hip as though she was going to fall off an edge. And she was teetering perilously on it.

She’d expected to feel a sting, some sort of pain that would follow, yet there was none. 

_Or that she thought._

She screamed for him as he impaled himself hard within her. His cock slipped past her restricting flesh, and he hilted himself deeply.

_How it burned!_

She tried to crawl away, her elbows scrapping on the bedsheets. Seruel held her tight, placing his hand on her back to keep her still. His fingers stroked her clit soothingly. The searing slips of pain fell away from her as he continued in long, deep plunges, letting her wet flesh gradually shape around his cock. Her senses fluttered and fractured. Her hips rose, tilting back to take more of him in, wanting that sultry pleasure of being rooted to her depths.

Seruel watched her body twist, responsive and yielding against him. Her arousal painted his skin with layers of wet heat. She was so tight, so perfect. She fit so beautifully around him.

Unconscious praise fell from his lips for her, his voice sensually ardent and desirous, and unreservedly breaking in lust. 

_How beautiful you are…_

_How wet you are for me..._

_Look at how deep I am in you..._

His uninhibited words burned her more than the ferocious needy thrusts between her legs. She marveled at how unguarded he became, amused even but her reverie was soon twisted into a heated moan as his strokes became rougher and faster.

“Breath,” Seruel ordered abruptly, his voice thick and hoarse. And she did, pulling air into her lungs. He gripped her ass and, with his thumbs, spread her completely open. His fingers had dipped along her stretched folds and applied sticky strands of her moisture to his engorged knot. Satisfied with his preparation, he inclined forth, the long strands of his hair swaying down to tickle her back. 

Her heart thundered as he kissed the shell of her ear, and told her that he was going to knot her.

Dazed, confused, she twisted her face, attempting to look at him. A slight fear swirled in her belly as those unfamiliar words accosted her mind.

"What are you going to do?"

He paused, his swollen cock resting within her and the wide curvature of his knot pressing against her flesh. Seruel caressed her heaving back, petting her skin and hips as he mused over her question. It was a question he was never taught to answer.

_There was no need._

_They never assumed that the prince would ever mate with one who was different._

But he was no longer a prince, and no longer shackled by the wont of the royal court. 

Sereul grunted softly. He moved onto the bed, and sat himself in a kneeling position, propped on his heels. Clasping her waist, he lifted her barely off his cock to rest her ass on his clasped thighs. The girl moaned as he sank her down on his cock again, her legs widening reflexively.

"I am going to put this in you." He plucked up her hands loosely, putting her palms around the root of his cock. "You had touched my knot earlier, did you not?"

Her flushed folds sat on the round, bulging organ. He jerked his thighs, pushing his cock up into her. She gasped, soaking around him.

"Is this not enough?"

"No. I wish to mate." He told her emphatically. "I want you to become mine."

His hands pressed against the small of her back, and urged her back to her earlier position. She knelt on the bed, her heart beating rapidly at the bluntness of his demand. 

The girl heard a rustle as Seruel slid off the bed and stood again behind her. He leaned down and his teeth clamped down on her perspiring nape in a locking bite. She felt hands grip her sensitive folds apart, pleating her flesh away from his cock.

Then, he lunged forth in ruthless want. 

She reeled back against his groin, pushing against him, her lurching motions serving to bury his knot deeply inside her trembling body. Seruel rotated his hips, scraping his length against particularly sensitive spots, and she came again, with a loud cry, on his cock.

“Seruel...Seruel...” 

The girl whimpered, dampness etching the corners of her eyes. Her legs strained, her knees weakened, and she sank down onto the bed, her breasts flat against the mattress. A blistering spark had formed and tingled through her, volatile and powerful. She convulsed as her hands wrangled the bed sheets tightly.

Seruel had clasped his hands over hers. He was shaking as violently as she was. 

He gasped her name as she cried for him. Her mind whirled, fled, coalesced into a dull pain on her nape.

His cock and knot jolted against her savagely. Liquid warmth spilled from him into her body. He ground himself against her, the thirst to mate and to claim extinguishing all his sensibilities. She quaked against him, too weak to resist another orgasm, his semen and her arousal lacing in long pale white webs down her thighs.

Seruel collapsed on top of her, his chest and stomach pressed against her perspiring back. He buried his face into her hair, breathing in that faint floral note of her scent and the musky aftermath of their lovemaking. Carefully, he turned her limp body, gathering her close, his cock and knot still seated within her trembling softness. 

He felt himself jerk again slightly, his sac instantly tightening to ejaculate the rest of his seed into her body. The girl hissed weakly at the heated invasion, her legs curling up against his stomach. 

She murmured something unintelligible and sank her face tiredly into his chest. She felt full, too full, and the feeling of him still inside her drowsed her into a fitful sleep. Seruel kissed her closed eyelids, dragging his lips across the damp fringe of her hair. 

_“You are mine.”_

Seruel told her fiercely, his arms wrapping around her small body, determined to stay locked to her for as long as he could. She must have heard him, and in a sleep-filled whisper, she replied, with much honesty and tender amusement.

_“You are mine too.”_


End file.
